Darker
by Lady of the Lost Empire
Summary: An in depth look into Jane's interesting life with the Volturi.
1. Chapter 1

_The screams ring out – they are not her own, she knows, but the emotion in them mirrors the writhing turmoil in her mind._

_Why is that? Why has it always been that way?_

_Her eyes open; the brightness of torches blinds them for a moment._

_Frail. Human frailty. Even locked within herself, deep within her mind, she is frail._

_She focuses – the lights splutter and rise, crackling towards the rumbling clouds. One man is standing near her, brandishing a torch in one hand and an ivory cross in the other._

_Doubtless, she thinks, he is doing a good deed._

_Even dragged behind her tormenters, she manages to halt for a moment to look at the man. All else fades._

_And he screams. _

Jane's eyes flew open. What had possessed her? Humans slept. Even a false rest, such as some of the vampires had encouraged her to try, left an agonising amount of room for thought; not dreams, exactly, but a bringing of old memories to the fore; pristine, unhampered by time.

Some of her kind might think perfect recall was a bonus. To her, it was torture. And nobody should be able to torture Jane.

Rising softly, she slid off the white leather of the couch, letting her slippers touch the cold marble floor. The shadows on the wall were long; she must have rested for a good hour or so. There should be a meal soon.

She was dressed in an elegant grey gown; created in such a way that its shapely folds and dramatic sweeping train gave the illusion of height and age to her small frame.

Illusion. Everything was an illusion.

Jane chided herself internally. She had been thinking far too much lately. Caius always admonished her, in the gentle way he had when they were alone. Although lately, it would seem he had forgotten his own advice; she often found him, hidden in tiny alcoves of the palace, his eyes so distant.

Snatching her long black robe from the end of the couch, Jane slipped into it, pulling the dark hood over her soft curls. She liked the hood. It gave her a certain sense of security – and not to mention the fact that it seemed to scare the crap out of everyone, vampires and humans alike. Little delights like that were what made living in this miserable world bearable.

Alec was waiting for her at one of the long windows, his hands clasped behind his back. He turned slightly in acknowledgement as she approached, the ever-present smile widening the corners of his mouth.

She clasped the hand he extended, moving to stand beside him.

"You rested."

His voice was one that you could hardly get used to, even though centuries had passed. It always made her grateful that she had such an elegant brother, especially at balls, when people would see the two and whisper admiringly.

"Yes. Never again." She looked out the window; as ever, he had been focusing on the crowds milling below, honing his sense of smell to their different blood types.

"Why? I find it relaxing."

"Dancing is relaxing. Resting is…doesn't it make you think?"

"Yes. And that's a problem?"

"We obviously have very different thought patterns."

"I thought, dearest, that you would have figured that out by now."

His infuriating tone was made bearable by his charming smile, but Jane's eyes narrowed as she smiled back. Alec winced with the slight illusion of pain she sent to him.

"That's not fair."

"Life's not fair."

The twins linked arms and glided towards the banquet hall.

Armad was back. One of the ever-helpful Hyacinth sisters clutched her arm the moment they stepped into the room, eager to be the first to tell Jane the good news. There was to be a ball tonight, a proper one, with gorgeous banquet feast in just an hour. Jane slid her hand out of the woman's' irritably and moved away. The triplets were all far too flighty – beautiful, almost exceptionally so, but far stupider than the average vampire. Alec was fond of the tallest one, though, so she let them live; reducing her feelings towards them to occasional scornful gazes or cutting remarks. At the moment, Amber was nearly going into raptures as Alec produced a small ivory flower he had carved. Jane turned away in disgust.

Armad stood underneath the towering arch of the roof, his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest. He was someone who looked good in rich colours – one of the few, in Jane's opinion, comparing him to the black-clad figures that clustered around him, eager to hear the deep bass of his voice as he recounted his various adventures.

She paused a few paces away, never one to compete with a crowd.

"Armad."

Her soft voice was so well known; the others paused, and Armad turned to her, his rich crimson eyes sparkling with delight.

"Jane," he said, excusing himself quickly from the group, and moving to her side. She kissed his proffered lips, her own eyes more excited than usual.

"How are things in the Bacchus clan?"

"Pathetically dull, dear, as ever. The dancing there is so vulgar – but you know what I mean."

Jane smiled. Almost all vampires enjoyed dancing, but Armad was one of the few who shared her deep appreciation for it.

"There's to be dancing tonight, to celebrate your return, you know."

"I should hope so. Do you think you and I together would be able to convince Tia to sing?"

"We shall see. Come. Caius has been dying to see you."

Armad's thick arm encircled her waist as he propelled her forward. Although she could never imagine another sibling than Alec, the relationship she had with Armad held the same strength as that of a brother and sister.

Caius was sitting with Aro on the plush couches that bordered the room. Ivy and Tia sat, elegant and poised as always, smiling graciously at Armad and Jane as they approached. Of all the vampire women, Jane held these two in the deepest respect; both powerful, and of course talented. Aro and Marcus had selected well.

Aro clapped as Armad approached, gripping his old companion's hand with even more than his usual delight. Caius remained calmly seated, a serene smile smoothing itself out along his features. Jane moved to sit on the seat beside him, taking the hand he offered and holding it in her lap.

"Armad. Did you enjoy your travels?"

"Fairly well. Is it just me, or is the world getting more boring by the minute?"

"Didn't I tell you this a few hundred years ago?"

"Several times, but you're the most irritable old bastard I know, so I never take anything you say seriously." Armad said lightly, his smile widening over his glossy white teeth.

Jane gave a rare chuckle. Very few vampires would be impertinent enough to speak so to Caius, but that was something that seemed to characterise Armad for her.

"I found the most delightful little clan while I was there, though. They were just passing through – they had one of the most experienced hunters I've ever come across. You should invite him for a meal, sometime, Aro. He'd be brilliant to hire as a hunter, now that Ignus has gone to live with Zanna and that little boy they love so much."

"That's a good point," said Aro cheerfully. "What's his name?"

"James, I believe. He's a tad vicious, though, so be careful."

"I doubt anyone could match little Jane, but I'll keep that in mind."

Jane smiled contentedly. Her reputation was indeed, as yet, unparalleled; the delicacy and sheer sadistic attention she gave to her victims was something of a worldwide legend. It never ceased to amuse her when younger vampires, like the Hyacinth triplets, tried to mimick her.


	2. Chapter 2

_The villagers are scared. They had always been scared, but now that the priests have worked them into a frenzy, they are like cornered animals; teeth bared, eyes wide, unearthly, uncaring screams thundering from their lips._

_She is aware of a soft hand in hers – it is sweating now, gripping hers tighter than it had at the prison. Bless its owner's heart. It will sweat a lot more ere the end of the hour._

_Something wet hits her cheek, and her head snaps up, her eyes raking the crowd. A fat housewife, her burly face mottled red and white with emotion, spits on her again, her stupid blue eyes vengeful._

_Had it been her son? She vaguely remembered seeing the woman's face in the court._

_Fat, ugly bitch. Her son deserved whatever he got._

"_Burn in hell, demon!" shrieks the woman._

_Jane smiles brightly._

_The woman screams, and Jane smiles wider._

_She is dead._

"Jane?"

The soft voice was worried, and Jane turned quickly from the window, a smile already prepared on her face.

"I heard you. My apologies."

She liked Byron. He had been a young earl who had captured the eye of one of the women here. Not incredibly interesting, but chivalrous enough to be a decent companion.

"It's summer; we all have more time to think these days," he said, taking her gloved arm in his own as they followed the others into the massive banquet room. It was an impressive place, Jane couldn't deny – the long mahogany benches that spanned the floor reflected the dancing light of the chandeliers. Her fine ears could detect the babble of human voices in the next room, and the clicking of cameras – obviously another castle tour ruse.

"Dance with me after dinner?" she asked charitably.

"It would be an honour."

The huge oak doors at the far end of the room swung open, and the eager travellers, mostly European from the look of it, stepped in. They paused, their awed eyes taking in the grandeur of the room and the perfection of their new hosts.

"If you'll all come into the centre of the room now," said Dameon, dressed in a businesslike suit and tie, a clipboard tucked under his arm. He winked at Jane as he closed the door.

As always, Jane waited for the initial frenzy to die down before selecting her prey. It was always irritating, dealing with screaming humans that flung themselves over the floor in a futile effort to fight back. It made it so hard to keep things elegant.

She chose a boy tonight - he was tall, maybe sixteen or seventeen, quite handsome, really; probably chosen especially for her. Dameon knew her preferences.

She approached him, and he backed away, the whites of his eyes showing, his palms held out in front of him.

"Mercy," he whispered. "Mercy." He had a thick accent – German? Perhaps a hint of Dutch.

"Don't fear me," she said, her own eyes wide and pleading. She laid a cool hand on his arm – it was far easier to keep clean without gloves on while drinking.

"Mercy," he said again, though slightly confused – after centuries of perfecting it, Jane knew just how angelically kind her expression looked.

"Nothing to fear, nothing to fear. Come, sit. Maybe, if you're lucky, it'll all turn out to be a dream."

He couldn't understand her, that was plain. Guiding him away from the massacre in the centre of the room, she sat on a soft couch, her dress pooling around her feet like a silver river. She patted the chair sympathetically, and the boy stumbled to it, dazed.

She reached up; he flinched, and she moved her hand fractionally so she only brushed his hair. They were so sensitive about their skin.

"It's been quite a day, hasn't it? You do have gorgeous hair. Look at this. Pure gold." Her delicate fingers pulled it gently from his neck, caressing his head, stroking his scalp. He was like putty in her capable hands. Gently, she leaned foreword, as if to embrace him; her hands cupped his face softly, angling it away from her, leaving his smooth neck exposed.

"Pretty hair, pretty neck. Pretty sad, really." Her full lips moved along his skin like the petals of a flower. He let out a little moan. Jane's lips twisted in a sardonic smile.

With the softest little push, her teeth pierced the skin; another moan, louder this time. She dragged her mouth downwards, widening the puncture; his moan was a cry now, but the firm hold on his body that he hadn't noticed before now kept him pinned to the couch, his arms held behind him, making it impossible to struggle.

Aro once described the best hunters as those who treated their victims like a lover, even to the final drop and last breath. Jane had to agree; as her smooth hands travelled over his shoulders, down his chest and up again, she could almost taste the conflicting emotions that raged within him. The adrenaline in his blood was delicious; she could never understand those vampires that preferred their prey dead before feeding. The pulsing blood that glided down her throat was unparalleled; she basked in it, smelling, touching, tasting her prey, embracing his life, bringing his death.

Humans thought they enjoyed food. There was no such thing as enjoyment in their world; none such as this.

He dropped from her hands; beautiful in death, although pinched; his face whiter than any corpse should be. Jane examined her dress – spotless, as always – and the lingering traces of blood on her lips gave her a final thrill as she licked them away. Rising, she lifted his lifeless form, settled it on the couch, and patted its shoulder. Maybe he had family, friends, people who loved him.

Maybe, if she was lucky, they'd come looking for him. That had been a delicious blood type.

Jane turned to examine the room. The feast was almost over; the only humans left alive were in their final, agonised moments. Jane smiled again to see Ivy with her catch – a strong, tanned male with bulging muscles, half-naked now, his bare chest hidden by the undulating ripples of Ivy's black hair. From the corner of her eyes, Jane could see Marcus watching his mate approvingly.

Alec stood beside her, so silently she was, as always, impressed. His face was calm, satiated; her brother took little enjoyment from his prey, but appreciated taste far more than most.

"Gorgeous selection tonight. Germany?"

"I thought so. We'll ask Dameon to go there for the next few months."

Armad and Aro approached, bending to kiss Jane one at a time. "Would you like to lead the way to the ballroom, darling?" Armad said cheerfully.


End file.
